Doubt Thou the Stars are Fire
by Eleantris
Summary: The kiss is urgent, passionate, tongues entwining like slivers of fire – lips slanting, breathing shared. She's trying to tell him something. It is desperate and rough – sublime and beautiful.


_**Um… hi. :) So I've written more as a coping mechanism for myself as much as anything else. But I hope you enjoy it; I certainly had a lot of fun writing it. :) And there are spoilers for the 'Always' promos and sneak peeks in this so yeah, don't read if you're trying to avoid them. :)**_

_**X :D**_

_**Disclaimer – I don't own Castle. :(**_

_**Doubt Thou the Stars are Fire**_

* * *

Her clothes are clinging to her skin, stuck there – tacky, uncomfortable. Her hair is wet too, damp and prickly against the back of her neck, water running in rivulets across her shoulder and down her chest. She doesn't care.

Her heart is pounding. There's no other more original way to describe it. It's hammering in her chest, threatening to burst through her ribcage at any moment. It doesn't bother her.

The breath from her lips is coming and going in short, sharp bursts. She feels like she might be on the brink of hyperventilation. The rise and fall of her chest is rapid and her lungs are screaming out for oxygen. She doesn't listen to them.

* * *

He opens the door, stands there. His face is mostly blank, unreadable, but he perhaps looks a little surprised to see her. But he's pleasantly surprised. She hopes.

The words all disappear – vanish. There were so many things she had wanted to say; she realises now that she had a whole speech prepared, but it's gone. She doesn't have time to think of a new one.

So she sighs. Just sighs. Because does it really need saying? He knows. He has to know. Because he stayed.

So she sighs, moves forward. And it all comes to her so easily, without conscious thought. Later, she'll wonder why it never felt this natural before. Her hands come up to cradle his face, she draws closer to him, needing him – needing his proximity. Her thumbs caress his jaw, almost absently, gaze locking with his – apologetic, pleading, forgiving…_loving_.

_He loves her._

She loves him.

A beat passes: a second of hesitation that doesn't even register – the tiniest void in time, forgotten before it can be remembered.

Then her lips meet his, claims them, moulds against them as her body does the same. The kiss is urgent, passionate, tongues entwining like slivers of fire – lips slanting, breathing shared. She's trying to tell him something. It is desperate and rough – sublime and beautiful.

When they break apart, both his arms are wrapped so tight around her waist that he can brush each opposite hip with his fingertips. Each muscle of her body is aligned to his. She can feel his warm breath on her face – hers bathes his in return. Her lips are parted.

She doesn't say, but breathes his name. "_Rick_."

It means sorry. It means thank you and forgive me and I love you all at once. It is enough.

Their lips meet again, more forceful this time. Neither holds back.

_Locking open mouths together_… the words drift into her mind and she smiles into the kiss, even as it builds into frenzy.

He feels her hands, cold at his throat. They move down, tugging and pulling at his shirt as though she's forgotten the purpose of buttons. Her impatient fingers are everywhere he's always wanted them to be – pushing past his shirt as her cool palms spread flat against the warm, bare skin of his chest. Electricity sparks from her fingertips and creates rivers of connection between them, zinging with life and light too brilliant to be visible. The kiss turns hungry, lustful; neither wants oxygen anymore.

And then, a red light flashes up in his brain – blares in front of his eyes like an alarm in the morning that you want to ignore but simply can't. He tears his lips away from hers, unwillingly, sees the flare of confusion in her eyes – the fire and desire in the depths of her pupils.

"Can't…not now, Kate."

He's breathless; there's barely any power in his voice because he doesn't want to say those words, but disappointment still joins the confusion in her eyes. She moves closer again, frowning, desperate for the taste of his lips again – doesn't want him to take that away from her. Not now. Not again. But he speaks before she can kiss the words away.

"Need to – to talk." A long sigh comes from deep within him. What is he doing? He's getting what he's wanted since the day they met. The look in her eyes tells him that she's silently asking the same question, making the same point. They both want this. They have done for a long time.

Except it's not that simple anymore, is it?

He turns his head, cranes his neck away from her, away from her lips – so warm, so tempting. Every inch of distance he puts between them hurts – hurts both of them.

"No," she murmurs, hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, leaving his shirt open. Her head shakes ever so slightly, but the real protest is in her gaze, in the way it locks determinedly with his. She won't let him get away from her. Not this time.

She kisses his jaw, his cheek, his lips, his neck, his throat, the soft, sensitive skin behind his ear – kisses everywhere she can reach – stands on her tiptoes in her flats. Her lips are soft – warm, familiar. They linger close to his ear; her breathing hitches. She hears his do the same and smiles gently.

"No," she says again, whispering now, so softly. "Don't want to wait anymore. All we do is talk."

It's true. And it's not true at the same time. They talk, yes. They ramble and they speak in riddles and communicate through coffee cups and metaphors and poorly disguised parallels. They've always done that. But now he wants them to _talk_. But her body is so close to his, her lips warm against his neck, her hair wet around her face and lashes dark against her skin and oh God how he wants this too.

The indecision tears him up inside. He turns his head to meet her gaze again, can't help but flick his eyes down to her lips. He wants them against his again. He can't deny it. There's something burning in her eyes – more than lust and determination this time. It's insistence. It's authority and blazing indignation. It's a challenge. And he not for the first time feels his breath being snatched away by the sheer weight of her stare. He continues to be amazed by her, by her courage and her heart and her hotness.

Her eyes say it all. The set of her mouth only confirms it. She's not buying his grown up 'let's talk about this first' attitude. She knows he wants her and she knows he can have her and it's making her confident.

Holy hell he loves her when she's confident.

And then he can bear it no longer. She's right. Isn't she always?

They can talk later.

But right now, she is wrapped up in his arms, body pressed against his, lips longing to be kissed again, missing the heat of his mouth, of his tongue against hers and his hands at the back of her neck. He's a writer; he knows when words are needed and when they're not.

* * *

And before she knows it his lips are attacking hers again with fervour and the kiss is so intense that it catches her off guard, stuns her into submission. The tables have been turned and suddenly she's not the one in control anymore. Before she can grasp the upper hand again, he's got her up against the front door, closed now, and a moan escapes her – comes from deep within her and pours into his mouth – makes him shiver. He feels her shiver in his arms too and kisses her harder – elicits another moan.

The door is hard and cold against her back but his body is oh so warm and soft against her front so she doesn't care – can barely feel it. All she can feel is him – wrapping his tongue around hers the way he's wrapped around her heart, the way her leg is wrapping around his hips as he hitches her up, pushes himself closer against her as though having the slightest inch of space between them is criminal. He inwardly smiles at his own thoughts – criminal. It's fitting.

"_Rick_." He hears her gasp it against his lips, breath hot, fanning across his face, and he groans, momentarily breaking the kiss as he rests his forehead against hers, breathes deeply, holds her hips tight against his, tries to maintain control. It's a little hard seeing as none of the blood wants to stay in the top half of his body anymore.

"Maybe-maybe take this elsewhere?" Her breathing is laboured, lips swollen, and it's taking all the concentration she can muster to summon up the correct way to construct a sentence, let alone speak clearly.

"Are you sure?" It comes out as a breathy whisper and there's a suggestive smile in his eyes, but she catches the uncertainty beneath his words.

She nods, as well as she can do with her forehead against his and lips yearning for another kiss. But she knows what it is he needs, the reassurance he's silently and maybe not even consciously seeking.

"I'll still be here in the morning, Rick… If-if that's what you're wondering." Her voice is quiet, reverent, like she's speaking in church. She needs his understanding and love more than she needs God's.

She smiles, somehow wraps her arms around him more to bring him closer, although she didn't think that was possible. She's already wrapped around him as much as she can be – the weight of his body pinning her to the door, feet not touching the ground – legs too busy entangled around his waist.

"I promise," she whispers, lips against his. "I won't run away. Just so long as you promise to not - don't do…"

He knows what she means. She means Slaughter and Stewardesses and keeping his distance and cheap shots and _uncomplicated_. But he doesn't want uncomplicated – he never did. There's nothing extraordinary about uncomplicated. His head shakes imperceptibly – hips shift against hers. They're locked together, each one the other's missing puzzle piece.

"I won't, Kate… I promise I won't, I'll only do…you." And then a laugh escapes him because what he meant was '_I'll only do what you want me to do' _but he's pretty sure she understands.

She does. She laughs too – a breathy, free laugh that shines in her eyes. She presses her lips to his, kisses him, hums happily against his lips – sends sensations all the way down his spine that he's never felt before and she asks, teasingly: "You'll only _do me_?" She stretches her body against his – he can feel every muscle movement, every shift of skin against his and it's driving him crazy.

"Prove it…" she murmurs without waiting for a reply, gaze flicking wickedly up to meet his. "_Kitten_." Her lips mould against his again, tongue languidly caresses his, tastes his mouth like it's a sensation to be savoured. She moans. "You've already written it… now _show me_."

So he does.

* * *

_Doubt thou the stars are fire,_

_Doubt that the sun doth move,_

_Doubt truth to be a liar,_

_But never doubt I love._

* * *

_**Well… I'd really like to know what you think! It's been a while since I wrote Castle fanfiction and even longer since I wrote something mature like this so…yeah. I feel a little rusty. :) I hope you liked it anyway, and thank you for reading. :D**_

_**X :D**_


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